


When Nature Calls

by christinefromsherwood



Series: 007 Fest 2020 [9]
Category: James Bond (Craig movies)
Genre: Camping, Established Relationship, Fluff and Humor, Hijinks & Shenanigans, M/M, Poor Q, and poor ocs, ehehehehe
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-08
Updated: 2020-07-08
Packaged: 2021-03-04 23:27:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,126
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25144678
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/christinefromsherwood/pseuds/christinefromsherwood
Summary: To say that Q hated the outdoors would be an exaggeration; he quite enjoyed walks along the Thames or in the Kew Gardens.Q quite liked spending time outdoors. He’d just never felt the need to gocamping. And sleep in a tent. On a thin mattress. In a sleeping bag that promised to keep him warm in the Antarctic but somehow failed on a warm summer night in bloody Devon.
Relationships: James Bond/Q
Series: 007 Fest 2020 [9]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1809718
Comments: 20
Kudos: 43
Collections: 007 Fest Fancreations





	When Nature Calls

**Author's Note:**

> written for the Prompt Table: Fluff - Fawn

To say that Q hated the outdoors would be an exaggeration; he quite enjoyed walks along the Thames or in the Kew Gardens. 

Sometimes, on a quiet Sunday, he and James would say goodbye to Snickers (who did not look at all sad to have the warm spot on bed all to herself), grab a bottle of water and a wallet and go on a jogging picnic; a long and hard run that often turned into a race, ending with the loser picking up their brunch order. Q loved these mornings with James. They’d lie down in the grass or throw themselves on a park bench and just relax. They’d drink all their water and sometimes James would pretend his old, feeble body could not possibly make one more move and he’d make Q feed him grapes and little pieces of croissant, pretending to be outraged when Q accidentally dribbled jam on his face...

So yeah, Q quite liked spending time outdoors. He’d just never felt the need to go _camping_. And sleep in a tent. On a thin mattress. In a sleeping bag that promised to keep him warm in the Antarctic but somehow failed on a warm summer night in bloody Devon. 

James was, of course, snoring happily beside him. _He_ didn’t even notice the mosquitos or the spider in the corner, and he certainly didn’t mind the wind moving in the tree branches all around them, casting shadows… He also hadn’t drunk two cups of green tea with his dinner. 

Grimacing, Q wriggled in his sleeping bag. 

And the worst of it was that this whole thing had been Q’s idea!

“Let’s go away for the weekend!” he’d said. “It’ll be fun!” he’d said. And when James pointed out that he spent enough time in hotel rooms and flights for missions as it was, it was Q who had suggested _bloody_ camping. He had no one to blame but himself for the stone digging into his back. 

Why he’d thought this would be in any way romantic, Q had no idea. Granted, James had looked rather attractive carrying a large travel backpack, but by the time they got to their campsite, built the tent and sat down on their uncomfortable, rickety folding chairs to drink a lukewarm cup of tea, Q himself felt decidedly unsexy and not in the mood. And to think some people subjected themselves to this for fun! 

He twisted around, hoping the new position would lessen the pressure on his bladder. He really didn’t want to get out from what little warmth he’d managed to create in his little sleeping bag cocoon. 

Oh fuck, fuck, fuck-

Q tore at the zipper and hurried to scramble out. That had _not_ been a good move. That had not been a good idea _at all_!

Tiptoeing out of the tent was out of the question. If he woke James up, so be it. (It was absolutely unfair that he’d managed to sleep so soundly in any case.) This was a call of nature so insistent there was no time for restraint movements or for the putting on of glasses. 

This was a call of nature so _immediate_ that there was absolutely no time to hurry to the campsite loos. 

Q stumbled to the nearest bush, tore at the drawstrings of his pajama pants and then closed his eyes as the sweet bliss of release finally overtook him.

Crack! 

Eyes suddenly wide open, Q froze with his hand on his cock, listening intently. That was a dry tree branch that had just snapped. Should he-

Crack-crack! 

Another burst of pee escaped him traitorously. Someone was nearby! 

And then out of the darkness it appeared, the monster! Massive ears, spindly legs, it shuffled forward out of the cover of the trees, hungry for blood.

Q didn’t let out a startled shriek only because he was the Quartermaster of MI6 and trained for high-stress situations. Instead, he calmly put away his cock and ran back to the safety of his and James’s tent. 

Once he got into his sleeping bag, he made a concentrated effort not to stare at the side of the tent behind which the monster waited, then he promptly fell asleep and knew no more.

If he had waited just a little bit longer, his brain might have caught up with him and he would have recognised the blood-thirsty beast for the fawn it was. A fawn and his mother, who followed close behind her baby. They walked gingerly to where Q had stood only moments before, took a sniff at the side of a tent and then turned their sorrowful, reproaching eyes towards where he’d disappeared. 

* * *

The next morning of James and Q’s camping trip began quite abruptly with the sound of someone’s loud cursing: 

“BLOODY BUGGERING FUCKING PRICKS!”

“What’s wrong, Harry? Don’t shout!”

“Oh, I will bloody shout! Someone’s taken a piss on our tent and it got into the cereal mix!”

“Be quiet, Harry, people are sleeping. And it was probably just the deer. I told you not to build the tent so close to the trees.”

Q lay in his sleeping bag, curled into James’ side, his pre-tea brain slowly making all the connections as hot shame spread over his body. 

That _hadn’t_ been a- It’d been a-

“Q?” James’ voice shook with laughter and rumbled through Q’s ribcage. Whimpering, Q ignored him. “Darling, did you…”

Q threw him a furious look. James’ hair was sticking out in all directions, his lips were quivering with the strain of trying not to laugh. And there was an impression of Q’s glasses on his cheekbone!

“It was really dark, and I really needed a piss, and I had no way of getting to my glasses because someone was using them for a pillow!” Q whisper-yelled, snatching the glasses from beside James’ head and indignantly cleaning the drool James had left on one of the lenses.

James covered his face with his hands and quietly howled with laughter.

Q decided to ignore him all the harder. Instead, he fumbled for his phone and got to work. 

Half an hour later, the man called Harry exclaimed:

“ _Finally_ , the WiFi’s working… Oh bloody hell! Janey, start packing! We won! We’re going to the Carribean!”

“What are you going on about now? Come help me clean up the wet breakfast things. The little bastards pissed on the teabags as well.

“You remember the code on the Bounty chocolate that I sent in? We won! We’re going!”

“But shouldn’t we wait for the tent to dry? It’ll get moldy if we pack it now!”

“Who cares about this piss-soaked piece of shit, Janey! We’re going to the Carribean!”

“My mother lent us this tent, Harold!”


End file.
